


Brother

by LifetimeMovie



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly feels, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Twins, but not really, it's sort of incesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifetimeMovie/pseuds/LifetimeMovie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brothers are supposed to be there for each other, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Con-crit always welcome.

Sherlock couldn't remember a time without Martin. 

His twin brother had always been through everything with him, and the suddenness of his leaving was a shock to Sherlock's system. 

They had been born on November 27th, Sherlock at 3:42 AM, and Martin following a short five minutes later. Both had a shock of bright red hair at the top of their tiny heads, and both wore the same expression of curiosity.

Mycroft, at the ripe old age of 7, had refused to hold them. He wanted nothing to do with the foul smelling distractions his mummy had forced into his life, and had gotten out of it by wailing spectacularly before being hauled out by his tired aunt. 

The pair had originally been very similar, both curious and eager to explore. However, it all changed when they had just turned two.

They had been toddling around in matching overalls with blue and green jumpers ("Adorable," their mummy had cooed, while Mycroft retched.) until suddenly, a cry arose from the sitting room. Diane, their mother, had rushed from the room, ordering Mycroft to watch them.

It took only a few minutes before their older brother grew quite bored. He had wandered off to investigate where his mother had ran off to, when suddenly, Martin had fallen, smashing his head against the coffee table. The resulting wail had summoned their mother back faster than anything else, and it was quickly dealt with. 

However, the incident left him with a large scar on his cheek, which the moment Mummy Holmes enrolled them in primary school, the other kids began to mock him and the ugly scar. 

Martin hadn't bore it well, returning home crying with a frowning Sherlock close at hand. Mummy worked to soothe the crying boy, but it was only when Sherlock handed him a small stuffed plane that Martin finally quieted. 

The next morning, Sherlock also had a jagged cut on his cheek, just like Martin's. Diane fussed over it and scolded Sherlock, but never again was Martin mocked for the scar, not with his brother around. 

The scars faded with time, but their bond had not. The boys insisted on sharing not just a bedroom, but a bed, where many a night were spent chatting up late, Martin ogling over the great big sky, and how desperately he wanted to soar through it. 

"I could be an aeroplane! Master of the skies!" Martin had exclaimed with an excited peal of giggles. 

"Dull," squeaked Sherlock. "I'd much rather see people than the sky." His bored tone had put a damper on Martin's enthusiasm, and he looked down. 

"Oh..." He signed, frowning slightly. "Do you really think it's dull?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but Mycroft, (12 at this point, and insufferable as could be,) stuck his head in the door and told them to pipe down so be could think. 

The differences in the two boys soon became much more apparent. By the age of 6, Martin had given up wanting to be a aeroplane, and had his heart set on being a pilot. He was cute and awkward, which made Sherlock stand out all the more.

Sherlock, even at a young age, had observed much more than most. He would stare at adults with such a critical eye, it was nigh impossible not to be unsettled. He was much more like Mycroft than Martin, but could never really gain favor with his older brother. So he was stuck awkwardly in the middle, seeing too much but never knowing enough. 

As time passed, they remained close, despite their differences. When puberty finally rolled around, they both silently agreed to get separate beds, in separate rooms, to avoid the awkward morning erections or the aftermath of wet dreams, an unavoidable reality for the boys. Mycroft was away at university by the time this happened, so they didn't have to endure his harsh judgements and comments, but the separation still stung. 

If they had to identify a point where they began growing apart, it probably would have been that change. Sherlock, embarrassed by Martin, had pleaded and protested until Mummy allowed him to dye his hair a dark brown. They looked similar, but not the same shockingly identical way they had before.

It broke Martin's heart. 

They still spoke, but never as openly. They guarded their hearts like a hand of cards, keeping them breasted and only revealing what suited them.

The worst was when Martin started to date. His awkwardness and lanky, tall build had a sort of appeal, like a young colt just learning to walk. He had a fair number of dates by the time they were into secondary school. 

"Who is it this time?" Queried Sherlock, who was lounging across Martin's bed, staring with a bored expression at all the posters of planes across his brother's wall. 

"Caroline Cole." Martin frowned, tugging on a polo shirt and frowning at his wild ginger curls. He could never get them to look as good as Sherlock did, which drove him mad.

Sherlock let out a derisive snort from the bed, rolling his eyes. "What?" Martin snapped, turning to glare at him. 

"She's gay, Martin. Her pupil dilation and pulse reactions are only in response to girls, not boys. It's most likely a pity date." Sherlock commented dryly, not looking at Martin. 

"A pity date?!" Martin snarled, glaring at Sherlock. "Really?"

"Don't be daft, Martin, I know you heard me," Sherlock drawled, finally glancing at his currently furious brother. 

"Why can't you just accept that maybe she fancies me? For Christ's sake, Sherlock, you can't always be right!" Martin snapped, his voice coming close to cracking. His voice had never quite dropped to the low baritone Sherlock's had, deciding instead to stay at an annoyingly chipper tenor. Although, knowing Sherlock, the voice could just be for affect. 

"Because I'm always right." He had looked rather dejected at that, before strolling out. Martin didn't have a chance to ask him what he meant by that before he had to leave for his date. 

The next week, their father's affair with one of the maids was exposed. She was promptly fired, their father kicked out and the divorce papers filled. 

The next week, his body was found in the Thames. 

No one in the family spoke of it, by a mutual understanding.

A month later, Martin left.

He did a surprisingly good job of it as well, covering his tracks so not even Sherlock could find him. Sherlock figured it was just a phase, and was accepted into King's College University in London, to study Chemical physics. 

After a year, Sherlock finally found Martin. He had been running about London, and finally decided to rest for a bit in Regent's Park. 

His shock had been tangible when he had looked up to spot a red-haired figure, dressed in all black, and judging by the dark circles under his eyes, the non slip shoes and he spattering of what looked like pasta sauce, he was just heading home after a double shift at a local Italian restaurant. 

All of this followed by the resounding echo of "MARTIN!" in his mind.

He had walked hesitantly towards the figure, who looked up with a shocked look in his eye. "Sh-Sherlock..." Martin had stammered out, eyes wide. It took all but a second before Sherlock's arms were wrapped tightly around his brother, and for a moment, everything seemed right.

But finally, the awkwardness of the situation finally became too much and they were forced to release each other, before settling on a park bench to catch up. 

Martin spent the better part of three hours exposing how he had gone about changing his name to Martin Creiff from Martin Holmes, an action which inexplicably made Sherlock wince. He also explained how he had been working tirelessly to become a pilot, and was practically beaming with pride when he said he had enough money to take his  instrument rating.

With genuine smiles, the promised to meet again soon, to catch up again. 

The next time they met, it was to comfort a distraught Martin over his failure to pass his instrument rating. 

The same went for the next three times they met. 

When finally, three years later, Sherlock's mobile had rung with a call from Martin, he ignored it.

The next time they saw each other, on their 25th birthday,  Martin was a pilot and Sherlock was high.  It was only when Sherlock started to tell the waitress at the restaurant they had met at that her husband was sleeping with her yoga instructor did Martin drag him out. 

In fact, he dragged him all the way to Scotland Yard, where Sherlock and D.I. Lestrade first met. 

At that point, however, he was just a sergeant, a bit too big for his britches but still eager to help.

He got Sherlock clean. 

The next time they met, Martin was a Captain, and Sherlock was the world's only consulting detective. 

They met at a pub, and the conversation was stiff and awkward. They sat in a booth, both nervously fidgeting with the untouched pints before them, before Martin let out a nervous giggle. 

"God, um- sorry, it's all just a little--" Martin floundered, a flush coloring his cheekbones.

Sherlock smiled, a tiny little twitch of his lips, before replying, "I know."

Martin was blinking nervously, but with a determined scowl, stood up, walked around the booth and punched Sherlock hard in the jaw. Before Sherlock could respond, he had an armful of his shaking brother, who growled fiercely into his neck, "Don't EVER. Do that to me again."

Sherlock blinked for a moment, before wrapping his arms around his brother and kissing the top of his head. "Never."

That night, they shared a bed for the first time in over a decade. 

They had fit together just like they used to, legs tangled together, shoulder to shoulder as they both stared at the ceiling, sharing a pillow. Martin calmed down considerably, and was just holding his brother's hand tightly, staring into the darkness. 

They shared stories of dubious flights and word games, of insane criminals and new flatmates. Of triumphs and losses and enough lost years and lost moments to create another whole lifetime. 

They shared a kiss that night. Nothing sexual, simply a brush of lips against lips, to remind each other that the other was still there, still alive, and still each other's brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic last summer, and only just got around to posting it here. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
